


Unbreak me

by Achrya



Series: UnVerse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, And Steve wants it. Him., Biting, Blood Drinking, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky is a...weird thing, Eventual comfort?, Family Feels, He absolutely doesn't kill people okay, Hurt, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is a vampire activist, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vampire Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve knows Bucky is messed up. He’s angry, volatile, doesn’t believe in himself let alone anyone else, had his body changed and everything he was snatched away...he doesn’t even want to be alive some days. Steve knows you can’t help someone who doesn’t want help, he knows he can't push Bucky to magically be better, hell he doesn't even really know the guy and he gets all of that he really does...but he can’t keep himself from wanting, needing, to keep Bucky for his own.<br/>As it turns out Vampires have some interesting relationship quirks Steve wasn't fully informed of.<br/>Sequel to <em><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4612287">Unkiss me</a></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shadow and a Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> There was such a great response to ‘Unkiss me’ and I really enjoyed writing it sooo we’re gonna give extending it and treating Bucky’s issues respectfully and realistically a go. And fleshing out this world they live in (the world building is giving me so much life). Hopefully this lives up to Unkiss Me. 
> 
> I think I want to start each chapter with a flashback from either Steve or Bucky's past before they met, to slowly tell the stories of how they both got where they are.
> 
> Anyway, here we go, the continued adventures of Vampire Activist Steve Rogers and Mystery Creature (mystery to you, lol. :P) Bucky Barnes.

 

_“Imagine you could be healthy and strong, stronger than anyone you knew.” Erskine said, peering at Steve over the top of his glasses. “With a wealth of power at your fingertips. If you could get up right now what do you do with it?”_

_Steve was sick. He’d been in the hospital for a month and he wasn’t getting better. Heart too weak, too scarred, lungs filling with fluid constantly, fever alarmingly high and nothing was helping. Dr. Carter and Erskine had come by to see him, along with a constant parade of coworkers, the parents of kids he’d visited in the pediatric ward of the hospice, neighbors...more people than he would have expected, honestly._

_Who would have guessed so many people would care about him?_

_He plucked at the IV line in the back of his hand. He was tired of wires and tubes; it was like being a kid all over again. “I’d go see Margie. Told her I’d draw her a picture of her mom.”_

_Dr. Erskine smiled like a man who’d won the lottery._

\-----

He sat there, running his fingers through soft brown hair, and watched Bucky fall into what was obviously an uneasy sleep. He didn’t bother trying to get any sleep himself, even as the night gave way to the first soft rays of the rising sun.

Steve didn’t need to sleep as often as humans and most ‘monsters’ did. He could sleep whenever he wanted to of course but only needed to do so once or twice a week to give his body a chance to wind down and repair as needed. He did end up sleeping through most mornings because he liked the sense of routine, liked the connection to the life he’d had before, but that was just a desire for familiarity.

As far as vampires went Steve was a baby; the twenty years he’d spent as a human and the three he’d spent not human were barely a drop in the bucket to a lot of his kind. Some of them, the ones from the really long lived bloodlines, could make it to a fifty times that before they withered away to dust. He wasn’t so sure what his natural lifespan would end up being, strange experimental mutt that he was, but Peggy had never mentioned anything about expecting his to be any longer than was average for them

He figured he had a good three or four hundred years ahead of him to look forward to, so long as he didn’t do anything that would significantly affect his ‘living’ status, like being beheaded or drained or eaten (it was a legitimate fear. Ghouls seemed to think vampires were some kind of delicacy.) which was a far cry from the sickly man who’d been on his deathbed three years ago.

Bucky shifted, lips curving into a frown as lines appeared across his forehead. Steve frowned down at him, fingers brushing over warm skin as if he could smooth the lines away, then sighed quietly.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to ask Bucky back to his apartment. He had strict rules, a strict rule really, about taking people home like that and it was ‘don’t do it.’ Even when at a place like SHIELD, which catered to the non-human community of Triskelion, it was more trouble than it was worth to hook up with someone. A lot of non-humans had issues with vampires, for starters, and would have taken such an opportunity to relieve him of his head once they were away from the anti-violence wards in SHIELD (He couldn’t blame them, most vampires were assholes.) so he tried to avoid that situation at all costs.

And humans...well sex and biting were very much linked for him now. He could bite without sex but there was no sex without blood, that was just that nature of things, and that meant one night stands with humans were strictly ‘out’. He'd tried a few clubs and bars catering to ‘alternative lifestyles’ and he’d met a few people with vampire or biting kinks and honestly it had just freaked him out, a lot.

So one night stands and just taking people home was something he didn’t do. It was too complicated, too risky, too weird…

Unfortunately he didn’t have much (or any) sex life to speak of as a result. He’d even considered the internet but there wasn’t much by way of ‘Would you like to date an honest to goodness real life vampire but don’t have a death wish and would actually just like to go to the movies and watch sunsets and have sex and stuff?’ out there.

He ate just fine though and really that was what was important (that’s what he told himself anyway) Six months ago there had been no vampires in the community other than himself.  He’d spent most of his time since then setting up a network that allowed anonymous donations from other non-humans who didn’t have ‘Vampire Issues’ and Nick Fury, who oversaw the community, had some kind of blood bank connection for human blood. He’d put word out and now there were three other vampires who weren’t interested in hunting, killing, or non-consensual biting around.

Triskelion was a good thing. Before it the various monster types hadn’t really dealt with each other, from what Steve understood, and spent their lives running from hunters and trying to scratch out semi-decent livings on the outskirts of humanity.

Then Fury had started Triskelion, literally building a small city in a dimensional space that sat along the human space in Brooklyn. To those who didn’t know it was there it was literally nothing, but to those who did know and could pass through the veil it was 24 blocks of businesses, schools, and permanent homes. Witches lived next to demons and trolls and the occasional dragon. It was a good thing, really good, and vampires hadn’t been apart of it.

But that was changing.

He’d even managed to make some non-vamp friends, namely Sam and Riley who lived across the hall. With the exception of Fury and Natasha (Natasha might had been a friend but it was hard to be sure what was going on with her most of the time) Steve hadn’t had much association with other monsters since his turning but Sam and Riley had just appeared outside of his door one day with beer, chips, and all the Die Hard movies on DVD. They’d heard about the vamp living across the hall and rampaging across Triskelion, trying to change the status quo, and since they generally freaked the fuck out of everyone they met they figured they should introduce themselves.

It had worked out and he now considered them his best friends (okay, only friends) which was the only reason he’d even been out the night before. He’d had a carton of blood labeled Siren in his frig, a handful of applications from hopeful vampires looking to join the community, and a book with his name all of it waiting for him but it was Wanda (and her twin’s) birthday and he couldn’t not at least put in an appearance.

Except he’d gotten there, bumped into Bucky, and forgotten all about Wanda and Sam and just about everything other than soft gray-blue eyes and a throaty laugh. It hadn’t helped that Bucky literally smelled like the most amazing thing he’d ever come across and actually made his mouth water a little bit.

Steve, who prided himself on his control and told himself he’d learned his lesson about taking people home, had gotten kind of stupid. Bucky had looked at him, practically radiating sex and sweetness and made it perfectly clear he knew what Steve was and was still interested, and he’d forgotten his rule and hustled the man back to his place.

And then shit had gone...badly.

Insanely bad.

Worse than Steve had ever imagined being possible.

He felt a little sick thinking about it. Bucky hadn’t just wanted to be bitten and drained, which Steve had encountered before, he’d wanted to *die*. Not be made into a vampire, but to die. He’d wanted Steve to kill him.

He didn’t know what to do with that. He was angry and freaked out and worried and scared and...it was just a lot.

He would have been justified in kicking the guy out of his apartment, sending him away and forgetting his name and washing his hands of the whole situation because it was so very out of his wheelhouse and above his paygrade.

He was just a ‘baby’ vampire who moonlighted as a tattoo artist and was trying to be accepted by the monster community at large. Suicidal people who actually wanted to be dead and gone, permanently, weren’t anything he knew how to deal with.

But Steve had never been the sort of person to just walk away from someone who needed help and Bucky so obviously needed help. He’d been falling apart on Steve’s floor, sobbing and shaking and…

The sound of his phone ringing roused Steve from his thoughts. Bucky’s nose wrinkled then his eyes blinked open, hazy and confused. Steve peered down at him, watched the slow process of awareness returning followed by abject horror. Bucky tried to push away, untangle himself from the blankets, and jump to his feet all at once but only succeeded in rolling himself off of Steve’s bed and onto the floor.

“Fuck.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse and, in spite of the situation, Steve couldn’t help but note how stupidly sexy it was. He crawled over and looked over the edge of his bed down at the brunette, who was on his back and glaring at the ceiling, blankets twisted around his legs and torso. Blue gray eyes flicked over to him. “Oh. Fuck.”

Steve nodded. “I heard you the first time.”

Bucky put a hand over his face. “I would be eternally grateful if this was just a dream.”

Steve’s phone started ringing again. He glanced back at where it was sitting on his bedside table, brow furrowing. Who would be calling him now? The sun was just coming up and most people who knew him would assume he was heading to bed or was already asleep.

“You want something to eat?” He looked back at Bucky.

“What’s your deal?”

Steve blinked. “My deal? I don’t think I have one?”

“Why are-”

“Steve!” There was a hard knock on his door. “I can hear your phone out here!”

“Sam?” What the hell was he doing here? Last time he’d spoken to him it was to tell him he’d meet someone at SHIELD and was planning to not answer his phone for the rest of the night and if he so much as suspected Sam was thinking about interrupting he’d tear his throat out (Which he wouldn’t. But it wasn’t like Sam wouldn’t heal from that sort of thing anyway.)

Bucky squinted and mouthed ‘Sam’. Steve squinted back at him, wanted to ask if he knew Sam but the man in question was hammering on his door again.

“Steve, man, come on! Pietro’s roommate is...missing and we’ve been looking all night and we could use your freaky vampire shit-”

Bucky’s face was falling more and more with each word. Then, looking panicked, he pushed himself up onto his knees. “You can’t let him in. I need to get out of here. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

He seemed to really like that word. Sam was still shouting, voice thin and full of worry; something was very wrong with him. If he filtered Sam out and let himself reach past him he could hear another heartbeat; not Riley so probably Wanda (he could identify Riley easily enough but he didn’t know Wanda that well yet.)

“Why can’t I let Sam in?” He let the heartbeats and Sam’s voice fade away to the back of his awareness and focused on Bucky. His heart was pounding too, loud and rapid, blood was racing, and there was a sharp tang of sweat in the air around him.

“I’m the roommate.” Bucky hissed. He was scrambling around and had located his pants on top of Steve’s dresser. “There...I left a message because it seemed like the right thing to do but you’re an awful fucking vampire-”

Steve fought to keep a retort back.

“And I basically said I was killing myself and they’re looking for me.” He got his pants on, hopping around and yanking with his one arm. Steve watched as he cast a frantic look around the tiny bedroom, searching for something. Then he started, face going slack. “What am I doing?”

He seemed to deflate, all the nervous energy draining out of him and he stumble before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Steve, man, tell your date to get dressed so we can go. Pietro’s working a scrying spell but you know how long those can take-”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Bucky whispered; he sounded small and lost and it tore at something in Steve. “What do I do?”

Steve opened his mouth then shut it because he had no idea. He could only think of one thing to do and that was opening the door. Bucky had friends, people who’d spent hours looking for him and were worried. They would be better for him than Steve, who didn’t know him at all and had no idea what to do for him.

Proper help, not just cuddling with some guy who’d picked him up from a bar to drink his blood and then screw him.

Right.

That’s what he needed to do.

He didn’t want to.

_'I think I’d like to keep you.' Steve murmured, brushing his fingers over the brunette’s face. Then shook his head; what the hell was he saying?_

He rolled to his feet and ran down the stairs to the main floor, pushing the memory away. Sometimes he creeped himself out.  

Sam must have been able to hear him because he stopped yelling and when he opened the door the other man shot him a look of pure relief. Wanda was standing with him.

She was in the same flowing black skirt and red top as he'd seen her in the day before, but her dark makeup was smudged, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and her heels were in her hands instead of on her feet.

She blinked once then looked past him, eyes flaring red. Her heart rate become, impossibly, even faster. She shoved past him, shoes falling from her hands to clatter on the floor, and he could smell her tears before they started falling.

Steve twisted around to watch her practically fly up the stairs to the loft and launch herself at Bucky. He could see Bucky hesitate, see him look down at his scarred shoulder then reach up and wrap her into a stiff hug. Steve could see that his eyes were glassy, that his lips were moving to form ‘I’m sorry’s, and he looked like he was staring at something far off in the distance.

Steve frowned then blinked, vision returning to normal.  

“Steve.” He looked back at Sam who looked rumpled, tired, and worn thin. “What the hell?”

Another glance back at the loft then he stepped out into the hallway to stand next to Sam and pulled the door shut gently after him. “He thought I was going to kill him. Not...turn him. Kill him.”

When he said it out loud it made his stomach clench. He could taste bile, bitter and strong, in the back of his throat. He swallowed it back and rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously.

Sam made a strangled noise, eyes darting to the door. “Are you okay?”

Of course Sam would ask about him and not the guy in his apartment. He shrugged because he didn't see what else he could do. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I think I’d be kind of messed up if some guy went home with me thinking I’d kill him.” Sam said and Steve could hear the worry and sympathy in his voice. “It’d be okay if you were.”

He looked down at his bare feet then down the empty hallway before shrugging again. He really didn’t want to talk about the queasy feeling or the strange sharp pang thinking about Bucky and the way he'd cried like finding out Steve wasn't going to kill him was the worst thing in the world, caused. Instead he rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

“I’m tired.”

He wasn’t.

“You can crash.” Sam said, nodding towards the door to the apartment he and Riley shared. “Do I need to pull the curtains?”

Steve’s ability to tolerate the sun was directly related to the quantity and quality of blood he’d taken in recently. Other than the two mouthfuls he’d taken from Bucky before the sour tang that Steve associated with pain or sadness had hit his tongue he hadn’t eaten in a few days; he’d been busy and hunger was a weird thing for him. He was always hungry, always had a emptiness gnawing at his stomach, but he made himself ignore it and focused on eating when he noticed himself becoming pale or cold or his strength and speed starting to lessen or his senses going out of control. At the point where he could hear someone's blood moving through their veins without trying to do it he knew he needed to feed. 

When he looked down at his hands and arms he could see he wasn’t as pale as he should have been, in fact there was the kind of flush he associated with being well fed to his skin. He didn’t feel as cold as he should have either.

“No, it’s fine.”

He ignored Sam's sharp look.

\----

Wanda had cried herself out against his chest by the time Pietro and Clint showed up from wherever they'd been (Someone had said something about scrying for him? They must have been back at the apartment then. He'd never seen Pietro or Wanda working any magic but that seemed like the most likely place for it to be done) and was just leaning against him limply. Pietro stood back, not approaching, and walking around, picking up things and putting them down then roaming to touch something new. He shot strange hurt looks at Bucky then would shiver and look away before starting to walk around again. 

Clint sat on the bed next to him and buried his face in his hands. He didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't make any noise at all. 

Bucky wanted to say something, wanted to reach out and apologize because Clint wasn't just his best friend, he was like his brother and he hadn't wanted to hurt him like this, but what could he actually say? He felt tired, even though he had a feeling he'd slept better than he had in a year, and confused and it hurt to breathe and think. So he just sat, hand awkwardly on Wanda's back, and felt like he was watching everything that was good in his life pull away or break apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a 'along side' story that focuses on Clint, and is generally a murder mystery with porn. Or porn with a murder mystery? ...Either way it's Clint and Pietro being dysfunctional perverts and trying to seduce an unimpressed Phil while trying to keep the peace in their little community. Totally different in content and porn err tone. Tone. I meant tone. ...yes. 
> 
> So. If you're into that be on the lookout, pretty sure I'm calling it 'Untouch me'


	2. Don't Say You Miss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one knows what comes next but they’re probably all doing it wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of violent sex/unhealthy coping in Clint and Pietro’s little corner of the world.  
> Notes: I did do research into suicide attempts, particularly the aftermath of failed ones. It may not seem like that research is translating (*long look at Clint*) but...they all need some time.

_Bucky stayed quiet until he and Clint were alone. Once he heard the shower start he turned, wide eyed, to stare at the other man. Clint stared back, looking sheepish._

_“Buck-”_

_“Wait.” He held up a hand, frowning. Clint had come back to the safe house after a solo ‘hunt’ two months ago with Pietro in tow and had stayed put since, never leaving for more than a day at a time. He’d thought it was weird but considering he’d been laid up with a broken leg and had been starting to go stir crazy he’d appreciated it. But now he was up and ready to get back to work, finally, and Clint was telling him he was leaving._

_Moving to New York City, with Pietro._

_Permanently._

_They’d been eating pizza and watching a movie (Pietro was always amazed by all the ‘essential pop culture’ they were missing.) when Bucky had gotten a message from back home informing them of what looked like ghouls in Pennsylvania. It was a simple thing, a milk run, and he knew it was to ‘ease’ him back in but it was something at least. He’d showed the message to Clint and an awkward silence had followed, complete with Pietro and Clint exchanging loaded looks and then...this._

_“You knew you were leaving the whole time. You only stayed this long because of my leg.” He narrowed his eyes. “You think I need a babysitter?”_

_Clint shrugged, laughing anxiously. “That’s not- I just- Come with us. Aren’t you tired of this shit? And ghouls? Ghouls eat dead bodies, they don’t hurt people. What’s the point of going after them?”_

_Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. There was a ton of stuff he could say to that, the least of which was that of course he was tired, how could he not be tired? Everyone they’d known for their entire lives was fucking tired but they all stayed. Leaving, walking away...that was as good as dying because everyone else would forget you’d ever existed._

_Staying in contact wasn’t an option._

_Clint only had Barney and, yeah, Barney was a dick but Bucky had his entire family. His mom and dad and Becca...he couldn’t just go, tired or not, not even for Clint. They’d been best friends their entire lives, raised and trained together, partners as soon as they’d been able to go out with an ‘adult’ looking after them, and Clint was what, walking away over some guy he barely knew?_

_Clint followed him to the front door, watching him pull on his boots and grab his duffle bag silently. It wasn’t until Bucky was grabbing his keys off the ring and opening the door that he spoke. “You’re just going to go?”_

_“Pretty sure that’s what you’re doing.” It was petty and petty wasn’t usually Bucky’s style, he wasn’t that guy. Except apparently he was. “Lock up when you go.”_

\------

 

They get back to the apartment, all of them shuffling through the streets under the weak morning light, looking more like zombies than people. It’s a strange silent thing where silence doesn’t normally go, stretching between them like it had a physical presence. There’s none of Wanda’s darkly amused comments and soft eyes, none of Pietro’s loud manic laughter, and none of Clint’s biting sarcasm.

Just tired faces and nervous eyes.

They arrange themselves around him, Clint at his shoulder, Pietro trailing behind him, and Wanda leading the way like they’re afraid he’ll try to bolt and the only way to stop him is to keep him hemmed in.

They might have been right.

He didn’t think they were. He was just tired, tired all the way down to his bones in a way that made just putting one foot in front of the other all he could manage. Thinking was out of the question and thinking about running off was pretty much on par with sprouting wings and flying to the moon.

Wanda lead the way past the door to the apartment he shared with Clint and Pietro, continuing up the stairs to her floor. Her hand flared red as she reached for the doorknob then she pushed door open and stepped inside, lights flickering to life as she did.

Bucky blinked and everything was painted in shades of red and blue. Wanda was a cold prickle over his skin and a creeping red mist that fell from her shoulders like a curtain and pooled around her feet, Pietro was a rush of warm wind and a hazy blue light that made him blur around the edges. Their apartment was touched with it too, more blue than red, but it was a faint impression but now, Wanda’s apartment, it was bright and alive and vibrant.

When he’d first come to Triskelion everything had been like this and he’d been unable to leave to his room without feeling sick or passing out, unable to deal with all the sensory input. Too much color, too much pressure pushing down on him, too much sensation, just...too much.

It had faded with time and, he’d always thought, Wanda and Pietro leaving their magic usage elsewhere. He’d figured Wanda’s apartment and this pretty much confirmed it.

He hesitated in the doorway but Clint nudged him forward and he stumbled inside, steeling himself for...nothing.

Well not nothing. It was all still there, the color and brightness and the prickling in the air, but then he breathed, blinked and it was gone, leaving only a lived in apartment that smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla.

Wanda headed for the kitchen, dropping her shoes and jacket carelessly on the floor as she went. Pietro followed, murmuring something about tea, and Bucky let himself be hustled over to the couch once he’d toed his boots off. Clint stood there for a moment, peering down at him then tossed one of the many quilts that sat around over him. Bucky looked down at it then pulled it closer, winding it around his shoulders. He pulled his legs up until he could place his chin on his knees and waited. Eventually Clint would say something, wouldn’t he?

Bucky bit his lower lip and turned his gaze to the kitchen to watch Pietro and Wanda. He could see them, moving around to make coffee and tea. They brushed against each other occasionally, shoulders and hands touching in what looked like unconscious comforting gestures, and talked quietly, heads tilted towards each other.

“Lemon balm and chamomile.” Pietro announced, leaning against the island for a moment, blue eyes zeroing in on Clint. “For both of you.”

Clint’s nose wrinkled. “Aww, babe, no. Not tea. We’re all depressed enough.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth Clint was cringing, looking mortified. Wanda let out a harsh bark of laughter then sucked in a shuddering breath; the tension in the air ramped up a notch and Bucky huddled in on himself more, stomach swimming with nausea.  

Clint sat next to him, groaning quietly, and tilted his head to rest against the back of the couch, looking for all the world like he had nothing at all to say. Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of that at all because if he could count on nothing else he could count on his friend to fill up quiet times with aimless chatter, sometimes to the point that it was more annoying than anything.

But now he didn’t care what Clint was going to say, didn’t care if he yelled and cut into him, told him how weak he’d been and useless he still was, as long as he said something.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and closed his eyes. “Clint, I’m sorry.”

Was that right? Apologizing seemed like the right thing to do. Everyone was upset and it was his fault. He’d wanted to stop being a burden and he’d only succeeded in making things worse.

He felt Clint shifting on the couch, could picture him picking up his head to look at him. “You’re sorry? You...Bucky. I thought...I didn’t. I’ve never been so...not even when you showed up without your arm I didn’t...I didn’t even notice that message until we’d left the club and got home and you weren’t here. That was almost two hours after you sent it and I thought...I thought you were dead.”

Clint’s voice cracked and Bucky was suddenly very aware that the noise in the kitchen had completely stopped, leaving a strange sucking silence in it’s wake. He wrapped his fingers in the quilt and shifted back just a little, trying to get deeper into the couch.

“I thought you killed yourself and I was too busy being drunk and trying to get Pietro to suck my dick in the bathroom at SHIELD to even notice you’d sent me a fucking message and I’d missed my chance to help you or talk you down and just fuck, Buck, you don’t…I don’t know what I would have done, I just don’t. And now what? What am I supposed to say now? Do you need to be in the hospital or something? Are you even glad that guy didn’t kill you? Should I ask how you’re feeling? Would you tell me?”

There was an edge of hysteria to Clint’s voice. He inhaled, like he was getting ready to keep going and then he stopped, breathing out. Bucky felt the couch moving at the other man stood up, listened the footsteps walking away and a creaking open. He winced in preparation for a slam but it didn’t come; instead there was only a soft click to mark Clint leaving the apartment. More footsteps and the door opened up, closing just as gently as when Clint had left.

He wished they would have slammed it. Anger and yelling he could grasp and work with but all this quiet tiptoeing and carefulness wasn’t how they’d ever done things before.

He hated being handled.

Someone sat on the couch next to him then nudged him. He blinked his eyes open to find Wanda holding out a mug towards him. He took it carefully, sighing as warmth sunk into fingers he hadn’t realized were so cold. He glanced meaningfully towards the door as he took a sip.

Wanda’s expression was one of weary amusement. “They are going to have fight and then have sex. I am certain I would just be in the way.”

He nodded, clutching his cup a little tighter. When he’d first moved in he’d overheard a lot of yelling that devolved into thumps, whimpers, and broken moans. He’d been out of it then, practically crawling the walls and trying to escape his own skin, and the noises had gotten to him, made him hide in the back of the closet while his frayed mind tried to piece it all together.

He didn’t overhear them anymore but sometimes he saw dark bruises around Pietro’s wrists and finger shaped marks along his hips when he shuffled around in Clint’s sweatpants but they were always paired with a much calmer and satisfied looking Pietro so he didn’t say anything.

“And we are not supposed to leave you alone, just in case.”

Just in case he tried to kill himself again?

His cup slipped through his fingers but before even a drop could splash over or it could plummet to the ground it was caught by an invisible force and moved towards the table. Wanda watched him, eyes so dark they were almost black, lips pressed into a serious line.

“I am sorry James.”

He blinked at her then croaked. “What?”

“I know you do not remember the first few weeks you were here with us very well. Understandable, you were missing an arm and leaking foamy green pus everywhere.” She frowned slightly. “No one but Clint could get anywhere near you and he slept in your room every night for the first two months. Anytime we worked a spell or I used my magic you would have a fit. We warded the space and moved everything upstairs but with time you tolerated things better. Pietro makes charms and works small things when you are in your room and you never seem to notice.

“For me magic is apart of all things in my life. Healthy magic means a healthy person and I assumed you no longer reacting badly meant you were healed.” She closed her eyes for a moment, long eyelashes brushing against her pale skin. “I never asked and this was wrong. I am sorry.”

He felt like his heart was being squeezed in a vice and it was hard to breathe. When she looked at him again it was with eyes brimming with tears and he curled his hands into fists at the sharp pain he felt in his gut.

“Don’t.” His voice sounded off to his ears, too thick and weak to really be his. “Don’t apologize.”

He was supposed to be the one who was sorry, not her. Wanda, all of them, they’d done nothing but right by him. They’d taken him in, rearranged their entire lives around him and his shit, tried to make him feel like he was welcome and helpful.

He didn’t want to talk about this, any of it. He wanted it to just...go away. He wasn’t supposed to be there, wasn’t supposed to have to justify and explain. He knew not wanting to deal with this, the fallout and the anger and sadness was just cowardice but he hadn’t really...thought about it before. He was supposed to be doing them a favor, making things easier but it was just getting harder.

It was like there was no end.

_“I need to go.” He didn’t look up, kept his eyes trained on the hand Steve was holding._

_“And do what? Jump off a building or something?”_

_“No!” He wasn’t sure why but he felt oddly offended at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t do that.”_

But maybe he should.

“I think I need to lie down.” He’d been asleep less than an hour ago and actually gotten a few hours without waking up for any of a dozen reasons that basically boiled down to ‘nightmares and paranoia’ but he felt...heavy and slow.

He didn’t think sleep was going to fix it but It was something at least, instead of whatever this was and it had to be better than having Wanda look at him like he was breaking her apart.

She looked down at her hands. “You can stay in the guest room. I will be here if you need me.”

He headed back to the second bedroom, found it neat, tidy, and completely devoid of personality. He flipped onto it, not bothering to attempt to undress, and tried to not think about anything at all. He listened to Wanda moving around in the living room, heard the front door open up and voices, too quiet for him to make out any actual words. They were probably talking about him, trying to decide how to rearrange their lives around him again. 'How do we take care of Bucky', the never ending problem and yet they were upset that he'd tried to cut them free from him and his issues.  

He was finally starting to drift, aided by the low drone of familiar voices, when the door creaked open. He sat up, reaching for the gun he kept within arm's reach onto to realize belatedly that he wasn’t in his room. That was followed by the realization that the guns were probably the exact reason they’d shuffled him up to Wanda’s apartment.

He fell back onto his pillow with a grunt, not bothering to acknowledge Clint as the other man shuffled around the room then climbed onto the bed. He moved over obligingly when he was shoved, making room. Clint settled back, sitting against the headboard. He didn’t expect Clint to actually say anything so he rolled onto his side and pressed deeper into the pillow, letting his eyes fall shut.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Clint spoke to him but it felt like forever.

“I just don’t understand why.” Clint said so quietly that Bucky had to strain to hear him. “I don’t want to make this about me and my shit but how did I miss you thinking you were trouble for me and being this unhappy? You’re supposed to be my best friend but I don’t know what’s going on with you at all. I knew things were bad at first, when you got here, but I thought things were better. I thought you were happy here.”

Clint paused, giving him a chance, but he didn’t say anything. Just laid there,  listening the sound of his heart beating frantically and hoped the other man would just think he was asleep.

“You aren’t trouble. This is...it’s so out of my wheelhouse. All these feelings and all this stuff I’m supposed to say or not say and I just want to shake you and punch you in the face until you stop being an idiot.” Clint inhaled then sighed, sounding miserable. “Do you really not know that you dying could never make things better or easier for me? What am I supposed to say to you that can make this better?”

Bucky’s first thought was that there wasn't a 'better'. There was only more of the same but of course that meant something different to Clint, didn't it?

Clint had this place and Pietro and Wanda and he’d left hunting behind because he wanted to, because he’d had something better, but Bucky had been forced out and didn’t have anything to show for it except scars, a missing arm, splitting headaches, and the ability to occasionally see the world and the people around him in candy colors which, honestly, scared him so badly he couldn’t even bring himself to talk about it with anyone because that was just another thing that was just another way he wasn’t the person he’d been before.

He was alone and his body was barely the body he remembered and it couldn't do the things it had done before and insisted on doing things it hadn't before and there was no end in sight because he was the problem. 

There was just...nothing else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Back to Steve. Who has decided to come visit. 
> 
> ...he's not entirely sure why.


End file.
